


"Is This A Threat Or A Promise?"

by panickedbee



Series: Sherlock Holmes Is A Very Lucky Man [5]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Bickering, Blow Jobs, M/M, Public Sex, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-13
Updated: 2017-01-13
Packaged: 2018-09-17 06:10:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,108
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9308762
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/panickedbee/pseuds/panickedbee
Summary: “Do you really think it’s a good idea to do this in a public- Oh God, yes!”





	

“Do you really think it’s a good idea to do this in a public- Oh God, _yes_!”

 _Space_ is the word John Watson has looked for. Something he is currently lacking, standing in a cramped locker with Sherlock Holmes pressing him against the wall. He’s kneeling, a sight John can hardly ever not be mesmerised by, and at the moment massaging his hardening cock through the dampened fabric of his underwear.

“You were saying?” Sherlock asks, cocky as he is.

He’s always enjoying stupid ideas, especially when they involve John. And this is absolutely stupid, this is irresponsible, it’s dangerous, it’s-

It’s Sherlock about to give a blowjob in DI Lestrade’s office. Obviously, this stupid idea involves John. Hence, giving him joy will give Sherlock _a lot_ of joy. We’ve come full circle.

“Couldn’t you at least close the locker?”

“We wouldn’t see each other if I did.”

John likes to pretend he doesn’t like it. His body betrays him in that regard. All the blood his brain could’ve used to apply common sense to this runs south, pooling between his legs where long lovely fingers do what they do so expertly. But it’s not only this alone that makes his flesh harden so quickly, makes his eyes roll back in his head as Sherlock’s fingers hook into the elastic of his waistband. It’s the constant awareness that what they are doing is so scandalous, so forbidden, that creates the bittersweet thrill just beneath his skin, his nerves on alert. His cock springs free, and he feels goosebumps running over the skin of his thighs. What follows now is ( _oh, finally!_ ) the sweetly longed-for hot wet mouth of a passionate lover (which is precisely what Sherlock Holmes has turned out to be once he has grown in confidence), and John can barely even hold back.

He doesn’t want to hold back anything, but they are in an office of bloody New Scotland Yard, for Christ’s sake! Sherlock’s head bobs back and forth over John’s throbbing cock. He looks down to see him there, swallowing between his thighs, and isn’t he everything he could’ve wished for? With the dark curls of a forest prince, the concentrated expression that makes that little wrinkle on the bridge of his nose appear, and those plum lips, pink cupid’s bow that he would die for.

He hears a moan coming from the back of his throat that sounds more like a grunt. Sherlock’s lips wrap around the head of his cock until his tongue starts circling the slit, and he grunts again, louder. His panting grows shallow, grows animal-like and helpless. His every thought narrows down to this. To sex, to the single wanton need that pheromones and chemistry in his brain reduce him to. He needs Sherlock to swallow him down, swallow all he has to offer, mark him, _come on, come on_ -

But oh, _fuck!_ John’s hand presses against his mouth to hold himself back from shouting out his name. If he did this, all would be over. Greg would personally ensure their arrest and they would rot in separate prison cells for the rest of their days.

Sherlock, who is obviously oblivious to such thoughts, wraps his hand around the shaft of John’s thick cock and holds it there, just in place, while his tongue keeps stroking, stroking faster and faster.

“ _Oh!_ ” His hand presses even harder against his own mouth, and he bites his bottom lip until it hurts. He might be bleeding.

And then, when he feels the thrilling electric sensation shoot down his spine- _yes, like this, yes!_ Just then, Sherlock pulls off. He removes his lips with a smacking sound, a filthy sound that makes John want to take his head in his hands and shove his cock right between those kiss-swollen lips again.

Sherlock ( _that bastard_ ) has the audacity to look up to him from under his lashes like a naughty boy who knows exactly what he has done but would still lie in your face about it.

“You wanna come like this?” He asks, rumble so deep John feels it on his skin through the air alone.

 _God_ , there is nothing he wants to do more than fuck him, mark him, come on him. The hand Sherlock has wrapped around his shaft tightens around him, slowly. The slowest and most pleasurable torture. His hand moves upwards. Sherlock’s eyes are glued to the sight of it, the first little drips of precome leaking out. His cheeks are flushed. He feels his hot breath going fast, and knowing he is so affected by _him_ is almost enough for him to get off on. He keeps stroking him, pulling back his foreskin.

“Yes, _fuck!_ Sherlock! Your mouth…”

Sherlock obeys willingly. There are only few occasions in which John is in charge, where his word becomes the command, where he gets to say what to do next. But when it comes to sex, Sherlock is ready to give him everything. And John is more than willing to take it all. Sherlock _loves_ when John takes charge, in fact, is utterly turned on whenever he does so. It is a weapon John has learned to put to use. He was, after all, Captain John Watson, served in the army for Queen and Country, and Sherlock is _very much_ aware of that.

He lets go and opens his mouth for him, blinking up at him with huge eyes that were so blue that they touch something beneath John’s ribcage and makes it swell. His head fights off the confusion between strong arousal and deeply routed love, and John’s cock jumps, curiously, from a mixture of both. He reaches down until his fingers are buried in soft curls and beneath the product Sherlock puts in his hair, and he guides him forward.

“Do it, John,” he whispers. It’s sweet but it’s a challenge. He doesn’t break eye contact. His tongue sticks out to lick away another drop of pre-cum, and John gasps. “Fuck my mouth.”

Suddenly there is nothing, not even a dozen armed police officers bursting into the room, that could hold him back from doing just this. He pulls him close and thrusts his cock between those pretty lips. Sherlock runs his tongue over the head, and he groans so desperately. Between his legs, Sherlock moans too, and the vibrations only make him thrust into him faster, harder. He loses sense of everything besides sensation and thrill. Sparks light up behind his eyelids, travelling down to where his blood is headed and into his thighs. Muscles cramp as he thrusts and grunts and whispers Sherlock’s name, muffled into his clenched fist that he presses to his mouth.

Sherlock pulls off again, and John whines in a tone he has had no idea he could make until now. He shoots him a smug grin.

“You sure you wanna come like this?”

John has difficulty keeping his breathing under control. With clever fingers Sherlock traces the slight curve of his pulsating cock all the way up to the tip where he lets it jump and twitch from the tease.

“I’m gonna come on your pretty fucking face if you keep going like this.”

Sherlock chuckles and places a kiss to his head. When he looks up again, his lips are wet with pre-cum. John feels his knees weaken just from looking at him for too long.

“Is this a threat or a promise?”

In the span of a second his mouth is on him again, and John knows at this point that there couldn’t be much more that it would take to bring him over the edge. He was so close already, and now his hips are rolling on their own, and Sherlock’s hand has found his own crotch, so they are moaning in unison, and _oh God_ , the vibrations-

John’s heart skips several beats as he hears quick steps coming closer. This is not good, not good at all, with them still standing and kneeling in an open locker in Greg’s office.

“Sherlock-”

But he is faster than John can give him credit for and closes the door just in time. Only a second later, they hear the voices of Greg Lestrade and Sally Donovan.

“See?” she says. “Told you they would be long gone by now.”

Greg lets out a loud and frustrating sigh. “I can’t believe he always gets away with avoiding the post-case paperwork!”

“Only because you let him get away with it.”

Inside the locker, John holds as still as he can. If they found them here, he would never be able to look either of them in the eye ever again. Or worse even, it could be the end of Sherlock’s career. He feels the moist breath against his flesh. Never has he fought this hard to keep himself from letting his mind be consumed by pleasure. But when all of a sudden the slick heat returns around his cock, the little whimper bursts out of him before he can stop it.

Sherlock takes more and more of him back into his mouth, and John curses him internally with every swearword he has ever known.

“Sh-!” But he can’t say anything, of course. Every sound could be heard from the outside.

Oh, but he is so close already and it feels so good. It wouldn’t take a lot for him to snap. His mind already drifts off again, and he bites onto his finger so hard that it will surely leave a mark.

He cannot allow himself to moan out loud, so his desperation comes out in quiet whimpers that he tries as good as he can to _swallow, swallow_ , and Sherlock _swallows, swallows_ him down, _yes, fuck_ , he has the filthiest boyfriend on earth, but he loves every bit of this, every bit of him. Then his head just spins and his hips thrust forward one more time. It’s not even him who he hears when he _comes, comes_ with his whole world turning into sparks and fireworks of endless sensation until it drops over the edge of _not enough, more_ and _too much, too much_. But it is Sherlock’s muffled groan that echoes through the locker as he tastes John on his tongue and swallows what he has to give.

“What was that?” Donovan wonders.

“Must’ve come from outside.”

Much to John’s relief, and that of his racing heart, the sound of the steps fades away again. They are safe. He hopes.

“No,” Sherlock whispers, and John looks down into the darkness. “It came from the inside.”

John blindly grasps for him until he feels the collar of his woollen coat beneath his fingers and pulls him up in a single motion. He still can’t see anything except for a few stripes of smooth skin that the light outside throws through the door of the locker, but he knows that Sherlock is, probably quite self-satisfied, grinning down at him. He pulls him even closer until his lips brush his ear. He hears Sherlock’s sharp inhale and a grin washes over his own face. Then he goes in to bite down on his earlobe. Sherlock whines.

“You’re unbelievable.”

“Thank you.”

John’s hand drops down, and he has no difficulty finding the bulge that is very evidently pushing against the thin layers of Sherlock’s clothes. It’s obvious how much it turns him on to get John off. It makes him smile even wider. But his smile is predatory. He massages the hard cock through the fabric. Sherlock whines once more, followed by a full-bodied shiver. John loves to have him like this. Lost, his head swimming, out of control. He would love to take him apart right now. But he won’t.

“That wasn’t a compliment, you madman. We’re gonna get out of here now, and you’re gonna help Greg with the paperwork, you hear me?”

“Who?”

John tightens his grip. Sherlock whines.

“Ah! I’m way too distracted now. _John_ , please.”

“Well, that huge coat of yours has to be good for _some_ things.”

He can feel Sherlock sulking, which is in itself ridiculous.

“And later, when we get home…”

The sweet nothings John whispers into his ear already have Sherlock rutting against his hand. He knows he has the ability to make Sherlock come on the spot with dirty talk and teasing only. Luckily, this time is not one of those occasions.

“ _John_ … Is this a threat or a promise?”

As they come out of the locker, John knows this promises to be the funniest post-case scenario he might ever get to witness. And still, nothing makes him happier than the thought of a _Later_.


End file.
